The Lost Woods of Play
by Tenial
Summary: A collection of stories about the mythical Kokiri Tribe that supposedly lives in the haunted woods south to Hyrule's capital- a tribe of children, they say? Check out their stories and how it leads up to the grand adventure in the Triforce of the Gods also written by yours truly here. These are tales of friendship, innocence, humor, and even some adventure.
1. Of the Ailengwell

Introduction

Folks do not give it credence that the Ailengwell was a real haunted wood, nestled between the borders of mighty Hyrule and her sister kingdom the realm of Calamar, standing as a marker of the old world: but it _was _haunted. Those trees had known the ancient gods and wizards and were testament to their existence, having migrated this way from the East when they foresaw that the Breaking of the World was going to happen. Their father was the lord of the gods, Aene, and their mother the blessed Farore who breathed life into them; our ancestors, the Ilia, taught them to speak and think, and it was from their inspiration that the _deku_ descend from these ancient oaks.

But the times have not been kind to these old beings. Years of Hylia using their bark for protection or limbs for the fire had stifled their feelings, most particularly in due to the greatest offenders who gave no absolution for their sins. They adored us once, but now they are bitter. And so the Ailengwell stands, a barrier to all who pass by: and a doom to all who enter. Even in light of science and technology, none dare to enter that wood, no matter how much the scholars dismiss its habitants as myths.

Many have tried to tame this ancient realm, but none have ever succeeded; let alone, few ever return with a figment of reality in their perspective. They come back as madmen, ranting about dark spirits in the canopy and imps who shoot darts at passerbys to induct them to the brotherhood of demons.

But despite these dark tales, I must parley to shed light on why so many folk, commoners and kings alike, have tried to claim this land. It is not solely for the reason that doing so may allow swift passage, for everyone has to go all the way around this woodland in order to traverse between the two kingdoms. No, not just for economy. It is for the Kokiri.

Legend speaks more about the heart of this place, and it is this one story that draws so much curiosity, for its depths promise a glimpse at an even more ancient time. In this new age of gunpowder and industry, the semblance of innocence has been lost for the profit of civilization. We are all adults with sin on our shoulders. But the Kokiri are innocent. Who are they? Why, they are immortals who never age, never contend against the test of time. They are angels incarnate on this world: they are _children_ blessed with long life.

The Kokiri is a tribe of ageless children whose magic and being grant them perpetual youth. They look like our own, save that their appearance is aligned with the hues of the forest itself: from their attire to their very physical appearance. Their hair may be auburn or green, as wood and leaf, and their eyes sparkle the color of hazel or brown. They are short but as stocked as a child can be for running, jumping and rolling. All Kokiri wear boots, and they oft compare their worth to the strength of their soles.

The Kokiri do not work, or at least they do not see what they do as work in of itself. Their main occupation concerns the upkeep of the village, whether that be agriculture or entertainment. For a Kokiri's main concern is to play, and to do so means to play with others. That was a child's first priority, to play. As for the management of the community itself, although one called Mido may pride himself as the chieftain (self-proclaimed that is), the village, let alone the entire forest, resides under the protection of the deity of the realm. He has had many names in his life, and was once a mighty wizard himself, charged with protecting and guiding our ancestors. For his great deeds, the gods granted him the Ailengwell, and he accepted. In his residence, he took it on himself to take the form of the very trees he loved, and so became the Great Deku Tree. The Kokiri were of his creation as ordained by the Golden Three goddesses. His reign over this realm protected it from the effects of the Breaking, and yet evil has stilled snuck its way within. There are rebel _deku_ he has warred to convert back to him, but the war still continues. Until then, the Kokiri are to never leave the village, and no outsider is granted access to this realm until all is well.

In his time, the Great Deku had met many allies from many worlds. As a token of friendship and of gratitude for courageous deeds, the fairy queen had gifted the Great Deku the alliance of her kin, the Faeri, to protect his children. As the years go by, the fairies have been regarded as an extension to the very life force of a Kokiri. They mentor, guide, monitor and channel these children to sustain the village and play.

You may ask me, however, how can this tribe live for so long and yet never change? That is the purpose of this collection, my friend: this is a myriad of stories about these bright and energetic angels.

These are the stories about the Lost Woods of Play.


	2. Link and Mido's First Fight

**Link and Mido's First Fight**

None were more lost than to recall the first time that that temperamental, hot-headed Mido had first swapped words, or fists, with his embittered foe the _motpellop _named Link of Southolt. One day it was assumed that they just met and did not like each other. As such, this is that story.

Mido saw himself as the chieftain of Kokiri Village, and so used his loud mouth to rally dimwits and sully respect from them. He wore a small, pointed cap whose point was quite accentuated and a respected trait in a Kokiri's garb: as well, he wore a set of trunks, a tunic, and a tough set of boots. His fairy was called Saphire, and she did not get in the way of his antics (instead, she thought it best to let him 'wear himself out'). Since the Great Deku, their creator and protector, said nothing against the lad's own self-proclamation, many others did not either. But he was not the model lad of the tribe. He was arrogant, very short-tempered, and prone to bossing others to adhere to his rules. The others would roll their eyes if he joined them, for it was Kokiri law that no other Kokiri was refused admittance to any game. But he was still a nuisance that no one could fix, nor want to. As for the model boy, he knew him very well, though— and loathed him. But this lad was not his foe. Not at all.

The day they met was a spring day. Mido resigned to gallivant around the village after an unlucky game of cards, as was his custom in many games whether the advantage was his or not (today, his own cards were against him). And so he set to strolling around his village—yes, _his_ village—to release his temper on some effect, and within ten minutes, probably longer, he had forgotten all his bitterness. Not because his span of victory was one coin toss less fortunate and sore to him as a man's is to a man, rather because a new and powerful interest took his mind off it for the time— just as man's misfortunes are forgotten in the wonder of new enterprises. This new interest was a valued novelty in skipping stones, which he had just acquired in that moment from Sofort at a pond, minding to wait until the lad was bored and deserted this play for another, at which point the auburn-haired chieftain assumed suffering to practice it undisturbed. It consisted of rehearsed, synchronized whips of his upper dominant hand, its sequence beginning at the shoulder through the elbow to wrist, with a twitch and flick to send a polished wedged stone-piece across the water, successively in bounds against its surface, and as far as the laws of physics allowed such venture— the reader probably remembers how to do it if ever was a boy or girl. Diligence and attention soon gave him the knack of it, and he barraged the minute aquatic with his hands a-plenty of terrestrial artillery, and his soul was gratified. He felt as much as a scientist feels who has discovered a new life—no doubt, as far as strong, deep, unalloyed satisfaction is concerned, the advantage was with Mido, not the scientist.

The spring evenings were chilly and short in Kokiri Forest, and its derision of sustained frivolity seemed to pester him as he depleted his munitions. A stranger was before him—a boy a tad bigger than himself. A newcomer of any recollection of either gender was an impressive curiosity in the expansive village. This boy was the queerest of them all. He was dressed in their shades of green and brown, tunic and shorts complete with boots— rather drab and hand-me-down, but appropriate. His hood was larger than Mido's and dangled down to the lad's shoulders. Although similar, this boy was alien in body alone. His honey-colored hair bore streaks of sunlit golden locks gleaming in the setting sun, and seemed to illumine an aura around his head. His shoulders were a bit broader than most, his arms bigger, and his ears more elongated than others. But none more astonishing, more than his deep-blue pools of eyes—not green or brown like any other Kokiri—than was the absence of a fairy. Really, a Kokiri with no fairy? That was _most_ incredible. He carried a quiet air about him that bore into Mido's vitals, along with a merry whistling that annoyed his ears. The more Mido stared at the marvel attempting to impersonate a fellow villager, the more obvious he leered at his novelty and the shabbier and shabbier his own individualism seemed to grow. Neither lad spoke at first. If one moved, the other moved—but only sideways, in a circle: they kept face-to-face and eye-to-eye all the time. Finally Mido said:

"I'll whoop you!"

"I'd like to see that happen."

"Well, I can do it."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"Nuh-uh."

"Ahuh, I can."

"You can't."

"Can."

"Can't."

An uncomfortable pause. Mido resumed:

"What's your name?"

"That's none of your business."

"How's to reckon I _make_ it."

"Well, go on, then."

"If you say so, I will."

"Much? That's less reason to 'low your business."

"Oh, you _smart_, aren't you? I could lick you with one hand crossed behind me, if I wanted to."

"Why don't you? You say you want to."

"Well, I _will_ when I want, I jus' said I could."

"You sound mighty fickle."

"Oh! You smart. What a hat!"

"Leave my hat outta this."

"You give me sass and I'll swipe it clean off and stomp a bit."

"You won't."

"I will!"

"Then do it."

"I ain't afraid, no."

"You are."

"Nuh-uh."

"Ahuh."

Another pause, and more eying and sidling around each other. Presently, Mido's Sapphire conceded for peace out of due displeasure at boyish tomfoolery: to which neither boy appealed.

"You ain't got a nice hat as mine," said Mido.

"Don't need no fine hat," said the stranger.

"Then let me have it."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I says so."

"You gonna do a fit about it?"

"I could."

"Yeah, no thing to hold you back, eh?"

"I need no thing."

"Could use a fairy, Mr. No Fairy."

Then the stranger's face twisted. "You say what?"

"I said it, you're no Kokiri."

"I am!"

"Aren't."

"Am!"

"Where's your fairy?"

"Don't need! SHUT UP!"

"That's silly," Mido laughed; "now you're trynna put me to crossin' fists."

"I'll cave your nose in."

"You know who I am?"

"Don't care."

"I'm your chieftain."

"How come I don't believe that?"

Mido's thirst for repugnance salivated in his mouth and so stepped back. "I dare you to step closer to my way and I'll lick you, or I ain't the great Mido."

At no hesitation the lad moved closer. "There, I dare you to stay honest."

"Crowd me and I will!"

"You said you will, but you won't!"

"You ain't talking me out of it!"

At once the lad swiped Mido's head, swiftly removed his pointed cap and so threw it down to stomp on. In the blink of an eye the lads were rolling and tumbling in the dirt, clawing as lions in war; and for the space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other's hair and clothes, punched and scratched each other's nose, and covered themselves in dust and glory. Poor Sapphire got afraid to catch a wild fist that all could do was yell and try to sound authoritative. Presently the confusion took form, and through the fog of battle Mido appeared seated astride the boy with no fairy, and pounding him with his fists. "Call it! Call it!" he ordered.

The boy only struggled for the liberty to gain new advantage, his eyes blinded with tears—mainly in anger directed at himself and his new rival.

"Call it!"—the beating resumed.

At last, the lad got out a smothered "nuff!" and Mido leaned back. But then the caller struck the winner in the mouth. Mido yelped into his hands as the lad shook his hand, for it cut knuckle on teeth and drew blood. Tired and bruised, the two adversaries separated and stood themselves up.

Mido had not busted a tooth nor bled. He then rubbed his jaw when soreness was realized. "I learned ya, I did."

"Did not!"

"You hollered, you _motpellop!_"

"I don't care—and don't you call me that!"

"That's what you are— a _motpellop_." It was a Kokiri invention, this word, of which Mido had just discovered and already deemed to spread amongst the tribe. It literally meant "no fairy." It was a title of ill-repute, denoting that the lad was not fully a Kokiri because of such deficiency.

"I'll tell my big brother on you!" said Mido.

"Big lie, I'll tell mine on yours! He can take on a scrub! No hands!"

"You ain't got a brother neither."

"Yeah, so?"

At this juncture, the wit of retort fled the combatants, and they stood glaring at each other down at a loss of words.

"Well!"

"Well."

"You got licked."

"You're ugly."

They shared no more. They were bruised and tired, and they turned backs as declaration of the battles end—but not of the war.


End file.
